Unmasked
by Lancelotlaureate
Summary: Philippe cannot decide what to wear to the masked ball. The Chevalier is there to help but mostly offer even more distractions.


Bursting theatrically through the double-doors into Philippe's room, the Chevalier found his lover standing by the ornate table, contemplating in silence. The raucous of the King's grand masked ball could be heard all around, and the Chevalier was able to sneak behind Philippe without him noticing. He placed his fingers, slowly, delicately around Philippe's waist, triggering his surprised body to stiffen for a moment. The Chevalier then breathed deeply, brushed against Philippe's hair and nibbled upon his ear. Philippe smiled for a brief moment and then spun around to be greeted with the face of a masked devil looking back at him. The mask covered the Chevalier's face but the unmistakable blonde curls fell loosely upon his shoulders and his blue-green eyes stared intently at him behind the small eye-holes.

Philippe tried not to smirk. "Oh, it's you?"

The Chevalier placed his arms around Philippe's neck. "And how do you know who I am?"

Philippe laughed and his arms found the Chevalier's waist. He pulled him closer and closer to him. "I would recognise you anywhere."

Philippe ripped off the mask so that he let out a slight whimper and he stared at him for a few minutes, examining him. The Chevalier's eyes were alight with mischief and his cheeks were flushed, and for a moment Philippe was lost for words.

"My face disappoints you my love?" the Chevalier asked.

Philippe lightly touched the Chevalier's face- the one that looked rather more like an angel than a devil. "It never could."

The Chevalier smiled and then glanced at the not quite ready Philippe in front of him. He was handsome of course but not suitably dressed for a grand ball. He was still in an undershirt and there was a selection of masks on the table.

Philippe sighed. "I cannot decide which to wear."

The Chevalier fondled some of the masks. "Well you look good in anything which is very lucky for me."

Philippe glanced at the masks again, his fingers hovering over them. The Chevalier assumed he was ready to choose one, but instead his fingers bypassed them and picked up a glass of wine instead. "I simply cannot choose." He drank a sip of the red liquid and let it tickle his taste-buds before he spoke again. "Come, take my mind off the decision."

He beckoned the Chevalier closer with a tempting finger and the man was at his side immediately, pressed against him- barely a slither of daylight between them.

"Maybe we could miss your brother's ball entirely. He always gets to be centre of attention anyway."

The Chevalier kissed his neck tenderly and Philippe smiled with the excitement. "Careless talk you know? Do you not remember what happened the last time you went against him?"

With a sigh, the Chevalier pulled away. "Am I to be reminded of that until my dying day?"

"I'm sorry, and believe me I'd much rather spend every moment with you, but…"

"But you must play your part."

"Exactly. My duty." He became lost in his thoughts for several moments before he shook them away and glanced longingly at his lover. He pulled him closer again. "I like it when we're this close."

"As do I. Let's dance."

"Dance?" Philippe smiled. "Before the ball?"

The Chevalier bit his own lip in anticipation. "Yes, our own little dance."

Philippe's shy smile turned into a wide grin as he placed his arms around the Chevalier's neck. They began to move in time to the faint distant music coming from the ballroom. The Chevalier found himself lost for a moment as his cheek brushed past Philippe's hair and it was so soft that he found himself dancing almost without thinking, caught up in the romantic and beautiful moment. It was almost like time had stopped still, frozen, and the only sounds were their two heartbeats drumming together in perfect harmony.

And then just as it always did, beauty became chaos and the never-ending twirling resulted in a crash into the table, sending colourful macarons flying onto the floor, falling like tiny boulders into a ravine.

The Chevalier and Phillipe stopped dancing abruptly, their eyes peering down at what had happened. They glanced at the mess on the floor and then back at each other. They laughed mischievously.

"If only you'd let me lead, Mignonette, this could have been averted," the Chevalier said.

"Are you judging my sense of direction?" Philippe said back, leaning up close to the Chevalier's face intending to look intimidating but failing when a smile emerged from his face instead.

"No, my love, it's just your disregard for those defenceless macarons."

The Chevalier could barely breathe as his lover's lips remained startlingly close to his own but hovering and teasing and never quite making contact.

"They saw beauty before they perished, I'm sure," Philippe uttered.

"I hope I see the same when my time comes."

"That time is not now so don't dare say it." Philippe was holding him tightly, almost afraid to let him go. "Kiss me."

The Chevalier willingly obliged and kissed him on the lips, softly at first before leading into an embrace so passionate that their bodies became intertwined, almost as one entity. It was just as the dance had been, as though the world outside the confines of their room did not exist and they were the only two, free from rules and regulations and who they were supposed to be.

And then there was a light cough, quiet and non-intrusive at first and then gravelly, throaty, as though someone was politely trying to gain their attention. They broke apart from their embrace and turned slowly to glance at who it was, spying Bontemps who was looking away uncomfortably, waiting for their response.

"Bontemps?" Philippe asked.

Bontemps hovered on the spot. "The King requests your presence, your highness."

Philippe nodded. "He can be assured I will be right along. Thank you, Bontemps."

Philippe and the Chevalier watched as Bontemps left the room and then they both sighed.

"Duty calls," Philippe said.

"I suppose it's not all bad. It's a party which means there'll be wine and dancing and frivolity."

"I doubt it's your kind of party."

"If you are there my prince, then that's all I need." He held out his hand for Philippe to take. "But first things first, you have not picked your outfit and mask."

"I simply cannot choose." He sighed.

"Let me choose it for you. I am blessed with fine taste as you know." He started lovingly at his beautiful Monsieur.

Philippe smiled, looking back at the man who adored him. What would he do without him?


End file.
